


Bittersweet Symphony

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24704647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Operating in Korea is more difficult than Winchester ever imagined it could be.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Bittersweet Symphony

Before being banished to Korea by the government, before his family failed to have him recalled because the idea of a warrior heir pleased their aristocrat’s tendencies, surgery had, to Charles Emerson Winchester III, been like the symphony. He undertook precise preparations for both. He knew when each would occur. He could read the changes in the light (dimming for the symphony’s first act and flaring as surgery began). His instruments were as precise, near, and gleaming as the sharp crystals in the symphony hall chandelier. 

But the symphony was gone. 

Now surgery was being torn between two impossible conditions. If he hurried, he might fail the patient beneath his knife by missing something. (What conductor ever increased the tempo of a performance because another performance waited around the corner?). Yet, if he chose  _ not  _ to hurry, a patient waiting for him to finish might move into the realm of “beyond help.” Each time he operated, he failed someone. Each time he operated, he failed himself. 

Nine weeks into his tour, he sank down onto the wooden bench in the scrub room and felt each failure singly and simultaneously and wished a sniper bullet would find him. He wouldn’t feel it; it would simply be  _ done _ . 

“Don’t think like that, Major,” said a soft, weary voice. 

Winchester surfaced to find that he wasn’t alone. “Klinger? How long have you been sitting there?” 

Klinger shrugged. “I can never keep track of time in this building. All that living and dying does something to the way time works.” 

“You’re waiting for me?” 

“Uh huh. Colonel’s orders, sir. Make sure all the surgeons get to bed safe. You’re the last one.” 

“You might have said. I’m certain you would like to sleep tonight, too.” 

“Saw your eyes, Major. When it gets like that, it’s better to work through it. Don’t be so hard on yourself, though. You’re doing top notch work, sir.” 

Winchester thought of giving him hell for being presumptive; he didn’t need the praise of a corpsman, but Klinger’s words returned “Don’t think like that,” - as if he’d known exactly what he was thinking as he wished the spark of his self was crushed out. “Klinger, how long have you been away from home?” 

“Too long.” 

“Is there a trick you have that makes it easier?”

“Easier? No. Liveable, maybe. Just keep breathing in and out, Major. If you have to stop to cry or scream or throw up, that’s okay, but you gotta start right over. Want me to show you?” 

Charles had few defenses left. He nodded. Klinger knelt before him on a floor that was too often the rusty color of drying blood. He drew the Major’s hand to the area just below his throat. He drew in a deep breath; it pulled his hand nearer to the Corporal’s heart. He breathed out. Charles caught the rhythm of this, matched it. 

Charles couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced touch; Klinger covered his hand. “Just hold on, Major,” he said, the warmth of him seeping into him. “It’s all any of us can do.” 

When the surgeon had calmed, Klinger stood, still holding his hand, still purposefully breathing. He led the exhausted man back to the Swamp. It was empty and Charles didn’t let go of his hand. Klinger sat beside his cot. 

Charles looked him over - the earrings that sparkled in his ears, the skirt flared by petticoats intended to keep him warm. “How can you be  _ you _ ?” he murmured, not meaning to say it aloud. “Are you not afraid?” 

“People around here are too busy to break my teeth.” He left out the minor abuses and scuffles; he’d recovered from them quickly enough and now he was careful when new people entered the camp. “Do I scare you, Major?” 

“I admire you. Maxwell, when I try to be myself, the smallest thing leaves me shaking. You simply  _ are _ . I wish I had your bravery.”  _ I wish I had your loveliness draped around me.  _

Klinger heard, somehow, those things he hadn’t said. “I can be brave for you, Major.” He stroked his hand. “You know, Major, I can be whatever you want.” 

“Max?” 

“I mean it. Your pretty girl. Your guy. Yours.” 

“What do you want  _ me _ to be?” 

“Just you.” He stood, got into the cot with him. “Just breathe, Major.” Then he turned out the light and they made their own sort of music. It was no symphony that Charles was accustomed to, but it carried him above the pain. 

End! 

  
  
  
  



End file.
